klune

welcome to my navigation centre !

-> i’m klune, 17, he/him, multifandom, chud centric. I hope you enjoy my random works :)

‧₊ ♪˚⊹ ‘masterlist

‧₊ ♪˚⊹ ‘rules

He wonders if he can stay in this moment with you forever. Just a little too much to drink, just a little closer, just a little more touch of vulnerability. This feeling is foreign and Dazai doesn’t know if he can risk this before you will inevitablely be snatched away from him—he doesn’t know if he can risk loving you out loud.

So for now, you’re both sixteen years old and tangled up in a world of violence while your hearts reach out to one another. His bandaged fingers slip between the knots in your hair while your face hides away in the crevasse of his neck and your eyes flutter close for the blessing of twilight.

‧₊ ♪˚⊹ ‘rules

things i will not write :

-> heavy smut, noncon, dead dove do not eat, gore, angst without happy end/comfort, discrimination against minorities or any of the sort.

‧₊ ♪˚⊹ ‘masterlist

bungo stray dogs ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ

𑣲 dazai osamu drabble (dancing in his apartment)

Thinking about Osamu Dazai. The man, who has so much blood on his hands that they’re practically stained with the frightening colour, embraces the softness of the night for once instead of the cruelty.

It's glowing with warmth in his dorm, given by the Agency; the small lamp found at the thrift shop is sitting in the corner, not so far away from where both you and Dazai are sitting. A small and quaint smile pricks at the corner of his lips as an idea springs into his head. He turns towards you before abruptly jumping to his feet and pulling you along with him almost toppling over into his chest. But Dazai catches you and steadies your feet. Like he always does.

The soft humming of jazz from the performers on the street over makes Dazai gently start spinning both of you around in circles. There's definitely not enough space in this home for dancing; there is left over ‘accidently forgotten’ empty cans of crab laying negligently on the small coffee table, clothes strewn near his wardrobe that he doesn't have enough energy to put away, and miscellaneous items he's collected over the years near the doorway. But at that moment, it didn’t matter. Dazai looks heavenly. The gold in his glimmering eye flickers in the light and the moonlight from outside is shining on the locks of his brown hair.